Young Writers Society

All I want to say is that by openning my mouth
I let my troubles come out
In a language I don't understand
Or would care to speak at all

Indeed I'd say I'm not apt to tell tales
And so shouldn't say said troubles aloud
Which is to say that I hate the idea of a language with sounds

Why should I have to belt out my troubles through the poorest of mediums
Devoid of pictures and thoughts
Only mere blocks of text cannot talk
Or make faces that tell me if I've been understood or not

Cling though I would to spelt words, seemingly clear
I found they only meant nothing
Nothing to ears too timid to hear
Like yours or mine or the world's

It's impossible, then,
To convey what I might in a sentence
Or millions, endless at that

I can say to you now that it's God who knows what I seek or see
Through eyes that see not pictures but words-
Words that are from a language too good to be true

Over the next hurl of the world, by ways of darkness to visions of light-
Visions cast from stars brighter than human riots at night-
Riots that never end because they can't see one by one as angels fall for them
To crimson deaths in shadows where bad things lurk
To eat what's left (of what's left) of what's called earth
'Till the firmament that's blue and black and silver
Falls into the hands of another man and all the hosts of hell burn

The first thing I would like to say is that your poem was amazing. It had a lot of rhythm and movement. But there were parts that rhymed then others that didn't and it made your work seem a little choppy. Also there is one spelling error that I saw, in the first stanza you wrote "Openning" when it is spelled "Opening". But besides that there really isn't any other spelling errors.
I really loved your last stanza. It had such depth and it really drew me in. I would love to see more of that in the beginning and middle though. Your middle was good, but I think that it could be great. You have a gift. Keep writing.

I really enjoyed this piece. I am heavily critical of poetry because it likes to fall into 3 distinct cliched categories "complaints" "I love you" "Dreck." This did not fall into any of these, but rather served as an accurate portrayal of the poets condition. It was technically sound in a lot of ways, and it built to a huge climax in the last stanza. In effect it was a poetic crescendo, that hit very nicely on the end. The fact that you were talking about how language limits all of us is brilliant, because I hope I'm not the only freak who thinks or feels in colorful flashes and can't find words to describe them. I make up my own, like schmiblygang but that never works. I digress, the power of the piece struck me immediately and I respect and admire it. Thanks for creating something worth being created.

Thers